The Tales of Morstan and Holmes
by Isabella Auditore
Summary: With the Watsons busy with married life, Sherlock is left alone. Things are certainly not the same. Solving cases has lost almost all its fun without a sidekick to show off to. Well, until he remembers the other Morstan. [3x3 Spoilers][Mentions Johnlock feelings]
1. Chapter 1: The Second Morstan

**This is my first (posted) **_**'Sherlock'**_** fanfic, so expect easy-to-foil plots and fluff that will curdle the soul of the most experienced of Cuteness Overlords. For those of you reading**_** 'Keep Your Friends Close'**_**, don't worry! Next chapter will be out soon. **  
><strong>Also, yes. I reuse names. Stahp judging me! D: <strong>

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><p><span>Chapter 1: The Second Morstan<span>

Jess Tyler sat huddled at a table in Starbucks, nursing a mocha, wrapped in a scarf and coat over an evening gown. She had a perfect view of the dark outside world as it passed her by, to the tune of a whirring coffee machine. The young woman, decorated with jewellery, with her hair tied up in a bun, stared up at the moon. Its light was somewhat- ahem- outshone by the lights of the town. They reflected off her glasses and back out into the cool night. A middle-aged couple entered the Starbucks, causing a gust of cold air to suddenly shoot up Jess' spine, despite the layers.  
>Jess was not familiar with Bristol. Not at all. Everything about it- from the people to the streets- were different. Even the country itself seemed a little alien to her, despite her heritage. In fact, Mary's choice in venue should not have surprised Jess at all. From the little the two of them knew about their mother, they knew that Mrs Morstan had gotten married in Bristol and spent quite a few years living there.<p>

Jess was reminded once again of the irony of her current situation. Her sister had just gotten married- she was Mary Watson, now. At around the same time, Jess was going back to her maiden name- Morstan. She'd left Mr Tyler behind in Ireland. He deserved it. Jess had not.  
>Turning from that train of thought, which would no doubt leave her sobbing in her hotel room, ordering room service and watching awful TV until the morning, Jess thought once again of the happy couple currently dancing the night away at the reception.<br>Of course, Jess was more than happy for her sister. Ecstatic. Only...  
>They'd been so close once. Mary had been Jess' only friend for the longest time, until they'd been separated. That was perfectly normal for orphans. Until they're old enough to live alone, of course. Then they should've reconnected and kept the family bond alive. Instead, Jess had received a wedding invitation out of the blue after years of silence on both ends. She'd had to attend, out of respect, but...<p>

At least she'd had interesting conversations with those seated at her table. She'd learnt a great deal about the groom, Doctor John Haymish Watson, from his friend Greggory Lestrade. He was a Detective for Scotland Yard and had met John through the Best Man, Sherlock Holmes. Strange, but Mr Holmes seemed to be the main topic discussed at their table. The only one who wasn't as keen as the others was a man with a striking resemblance to the 'consulting detective', as Lestrade put it. At first, Jess had feigned interest to be polite, but as the evening went on, she became more and more intrigued in the strange man with sad eyes sitting at the top table. Whether that was his nature or the day that was in it was unknown to her.  
>When Mr Holmes stood up to give his Best Man's speech, Jess' interest spiked. He was the living embodiment of nerves, insanity, mystery and cheekbones. The way he'd acted was completely absurd, but at least he could write a decent speech.<p>

Jess' attention was drawn back to the present in the surprisingly chilly Starbucks when she realised her cup was empty. She sighed in disappointment, leaning back in her chair for a second. The last few dregs at the bottom of her cup swirled around in what would likely be an overwhelming amount of caffeine and cocoa that would assault her tastebuds. Jess stared at the not-quite liquid for a moment, weighing the pros and the cons for drinking it. Eventually, the need for chocolate outweighed her disgust and she downed it.  
>Jess figured she might as well head back to the hotel. The reception was probably in full swing and they might notice if she didn't at least make an appearance for a dance or two.<p>

Her heels clicked satisfyingly as Jess made her way down the garden pathway towards the reception. Her hands were buried deep in her pockets and she was staring and the ground as she walked. In other words, she had no way of knowing she had almost crashed into the world's first and only consulting detective. Instead, she saw a slight shadow and felt a breeze as a dark coat swept by her. Her hands came out of her pockets instinctually, almost as a self-defence means, though they stayed by her side. Jess turned to look after the dark figure striding down the path, away from the loud, colourful room filled with people. The figure was leaving the wedding early. Then, to Jess' surprise, the figure turned on its heel. She recognised him at once as Sherlock Holmes. He seemed to study her for a second, as though she were a book and he was merely flipping the pages to learn the facts. It was unnerving, having those cold eyes trained on her. They were certainly sad. A whole lot sadder than she'd seen earlier. The dark look on his face could've been interpreted to mean many things, but Jess had seen it enough during her life to know exactly what it was, no matter how hard he was trying to fight showing it. Possibly even feeling it.

Two scenarios came into the woman's mind. One of which was much more plausible, given the speech. In that heartbeat, Jess widened her eyes in surprise as she realised why Mr Holmes had looked so sad all day. Then, before she could utter a word, the man swept towards her, his long legs making short work of the path. Before she could blink or move or even think, Mr Holmes took Jess' face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers. It was urgent, as though the world was about to end, and filled with unspoken emotion. It told a hundred stories, and not a single one of them was meant for her.  
>Still, after the momentary shock, Jess couldn't help but admire his technique.<br>When he finally broke the contact and took a step away, both people had to catch their breath. Sherlock- there was no way she'd be referring to him as Mr Holmes anymore- kept his eyes trained on the ground.  
>"I'm sorry." He croaked. Then, without another word, the strange man with untold secrets disappeared down the dark garden pathway, away from the party, leaving a dazed Jess in his wake.<p>

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><p><strong>Wow, that was really out of character, Sherry. You've got some explaining to do! And (assuming you temporarily forgot the warning in the summary) who was that kiss really for? Such cliffhanger! Much confuse! Very ship!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2: The Sorrowful Showoff

**Okay, so first of all... WOW. Within the first day, this story got so much love! Nothing makes me happier than reviews, but favourites and follows are a pretty close (joint) second. Seriously, I can't convey my reaction. Actually, I can. Just remember Sherlock after John asked him to be his Best Man. THAT. That was my reaction.**  
><strong>Moving on... Sherlock decides to be a bit of a silly goose. He mopes and shows off. Enjoy!<strong>

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><p><span>Chapter 2: The Sorrowful Showoff<span>

Sherlock Holmes sat in his usual seat in 221B. He was completely motionless, staring blankly at the empty chair in front of him. His hands were clasped together, four fingers pointing upwards and pressed against his chin in thought. Elbows rested on knees. He hadn't moved from that spot in hours.  
>Really, Sherlock was far beyond bored now. He'd shot at the smiley face on the wall so much that barely any of the original yellow spraypaint was visible, and there was a perpetual smell of burnt gunpowder in the flat.<br>Soon after John and Mary's wedding, Sherlock was visited by Lestrade with a case. It was too easy- Lestrade knew it, too- but the main idea was to get the consulting detective up and moving again. Sherlock had glanced through the file and grunted, before leaning back in his seat and muttering something about being "busy". Greg gave up after a few more futile attempts to encourage the curly-haired man and left Bakerstreet.  
>Every one of Sherlock's friends had their theories. John and Mary, who were on their Honeymoon, had no idea of Sherlock's current mood and no one wanted to spoil their time together, understandably.<p>

Sherlock's phone buzzed. He twitched, but eventually moved to take it out of his pocket. Frowning at the screen, he read the brief words again. Lestrade, with yet another simple case. Too easy. No point in even trying to solve it. But maybe... just-  
>Nope. He tossed his phone onto the desk beside him, narrowly missing the laptop perched on top that was slowly gathering dust.<br>Reverting back to his thinking pose, Sherlock sighed internally. He supposed he needed to eat at some point in the next day or so. Then again, that could wait. Everything could wait. Sherlock just needed time to sit. To sit and just exist. Maybe tea, if Mrs Hudson came upstairs. Until then, sitting would do. Minimal sustinance was required for minimum activity. And so, Sherlock sat.

Back in Ireland, Jess Tyler was no longer Jess Tyler. She was back to her maiden name of Morstan, after the final part of the divorce went through. She felt a weight was lifted from her shoulders with the loss of that name. All it was was a reminder of what the idiot had done. She couldn't possibly love him anymore after that. Still, even as she made her way down the steps from the Fourcourts, her heart ached. Memories of happier times kept flashing through her mind. Their first kiss. The day he popped the question. Their wedding day. All too perfect. Too completely fairy-tale. Her 'Happily Ever After'.  
>No, she mustn't think of that horrid excuse of a human being as her Prince Charming any longer. What made it worse was he was never real. Everything was an act- she had to hand it to him, he was very convincing. He had everyone fooled; even his other two families.<br>Jess found her feet leading her to the nearest pub so she veered away quickly. Sadness and alcohol never ended well. Instead, she decided to give herself a kick in the right direction and help someone in need.  
>That meant heading home and doing some research.<p>

Jess stood on the doorstep of 221B Bakerstreet in London, waiting for a reply to her knock. While she waited, she had time to reflect on what had led her to the third-last person in the world she wanted to see.  
>A colleague of hers had lost a son recently. Literally lost. He'd gone missing one night while she'd been watching a movie. Assuming he'd just hidden somewhere in the apartment, she'd done nothing until about midnight, when he didn't answer any of her pleas to go to bed.<br>The police searched the complex but there was no sign of a struggle or a break-in. Absolutely everything checked out. It was almost as though the boy had just disappeared. What made the whole situation worse was the mother lived on the top floor of the building, so soon after, police began searching for a small, crumpled body on the side of the road. Luckily- or unluckily, depending on your view- no body was found. Everyone was baffled. Her colleague had begged every person she knew to help find the little boy and Jess had already decided she'd contact Sherlock Holmes before the name-changing. It was her coping mechanism of doing things that had made her get on a plane and actually go to London, as opposed to writing an email.  
>When the front door opened inwards, Jess was greeted by a kind-looking older woman. She recognised her from Mary's wedding. So, this was indeed the right place.<br>"Hi, I'm Jess. Jess Morstan- Mary's sister." Jess greeted with a brief, polite smile. The woman hesitated for a moment before letting a smile stretch across her face.  
>"Oh, yes! You were at the wedding, weren't you?" Mrs Hudson beamed, but the smile faltered a little. "I never knew Mary had a sister before the wedding."<br>Jess smiled ruefully.  
>"I don't think the groom did, either. Anyway, I'm actually here to see Sherlock Holmes?"<p>

Mrs Hudson led Jess inside, but before bringing her upstairs pulled her to the side.  
>"You should know that Sherlock hasn't really been the same since the wedding. I think he misses his John more than he thought he would, poor boy." The older woman half-whispered, glancing sadly at the ceiling. Jess followed her gaze. "Whatever your reason is for visiting, he might not react well. Just thought I'd warn you. But, maybe he's better today." She smiled warmly at the younger woman.<br>"Thanks, Mrs Hudson." Jess nodded politely to her. She turned to begin going upstairs.  
>"If he wants anything, like tea or biscuits, just let me know. He needs a bit of care at the moment." Mrs Hudson called after her softly. Jess nodded again, before beginning to ascend the stairs.<p>

The smell of burning was almost overwhelming, like someone had burnt a roast dinner and then shot at it for hours with a pistol. Jess chose not to choke as she made it onto the landing. The door was open, so she could see various bits of furniture covered in papers, whatchamacallits and thingamejigs of different shapes and sizes. Jess stepped into the apartment and before she'd even found the pair of blue eyes fixed on her, a rumble from a chair by the window greeted her roughly.  
>"What do you want?" His voice- clearly Sherlock's, though somehow deepened by whatever level of pain he was feeling. There was a pause where Jess took in the man sitting forgotten in a corner, like an old, discarded toy. Even his voice lacked conviction.<br>Jess struggled to find the words to explain why she was there.  
>"I'm, uh, a client." She managed at last. His eyes were still as piercing as before, though somewhat dulled, too. When he got to his feet, Jess caught herself as she almost took an involuntary step back. He was just as tall as she remembered, though definitely more intimidating. He seemed to loom over her while being maybe six or seven feet away. As he got closer, she felt like she was growing shorter. Eyes scanned her like the open book everyone was to him. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side and he frowned. Suddenly, Jess found herself asking a question she did <em>not<em> mean to ask out loud. It was like his eyes forced the question out.  
>"Why did you kiss me?" Her words stumbled over one another, filling in the frankly awkward silence that had settled. The question seemed expected yet still surprising to Sherlock. His eyebrows shot up, if only for a second. He took a step back, the calm look back.<br>Sherlock paused for the longest time, staring at Jess. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.  
>"If you're here about your ex-husband, I cannot help. You see, I am currently very busy and am taking no cases until the matter is resolved." Sherlock paused again. "However, you're not here about him. Instead, it's something about a... friend? No, aquaintance, maybe. But the real question is, why was the matter of such importance that you needed to leave at once, yet didn't think to write an email? Surely your motivation was more than just a good deed for your aquaintance, which leads me to ask why your first question was about our encounter at-" Sherlock frowned to himself for the briefest of seconds. "-in Bristol, unless that was in fact your intention all along?" He finished.<br>Jess stared. Just... stared. She knew he was good- solving all those cases wasn't just luck- but this?  
>"...Wow." She shook her head in stunned awe at last. Sherlock couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching upward for a second. Everything was tiny responses with him. A flinch or a twitch. So far he had not showed any straightforward emotions.<br>"Please. I didn't even try. Besides, I never mentioned your early-morning flight from Dublin, nor your lack of sleep, or even that you've been without proper accomidation for approximately eighteen months. I won't mention your foster-mother's tabby cat with the limp. Oops, just did." Sherlock folded his arms.  
>Jess blinked in shock.<br>"Do you need a blanket?" Sherlock asked with a brief smirk.  
>"You forgot something." She grinned superiorily, ignoring his obvious jab at her surprise. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in response. "The answer to my first question."<p>

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><p><strong>The First Question... The question resonating through time and space... The question that could start a hundred year war if answered... <strong>_**Wholock?**_  
><strong>Sorry, couldn't resist. Aaanyway, the story's gonna become more seriousinteresting once I get some of the boring intro-bits done. Woo! Bear with me, you (hopefully) won't regret it!**  
><strong>Until next time, Sherlockians!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3: The Story of a Sociopath

**And we return (at last) for chapter three! Sorry about the hiatus, but we all know you're used to those... *glares at Lord Mofftiss* Anyway, I have a good reason. **  
><strong>Seeing as how I didn't exactly plan for Mary being an assassin, I had to come up with an alternative storyline. I'm sorry to say that it's a bit on the far-fetched side of things now, but what could I do? Anyway, it'll be explained in the same way any character development is- hinted at, until one big reveal over the course of a few chapters.<strong>

**One little warning for this chapter: Sad Sherlock is OOC Sherlock, so bear with me through the speech. You'll know it when you see it. Enjoy!**

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><p><span>Chapter 3: The Story of a Sociopath<span>

Before Jess could so much as flinch, Sherlock had glared at her and swiftly moved across the room back to his seat. The young woman merely watched in confusion as the consulting detective continued to glare at her with those too-intense eyes. Surely her question was answerable. It was a simple question. _Why did you kiss me?_ Perfectly reasonable, too.  
>Though... Maybe not the <em>right<em> question. The newer idea that had formed in her head told Sherlock that she knew the reason, she just needed to hear it. Jess cleared her throat and stared directly at Sherlock Holmes.  
>"Who was that kiss really for?" Silence rung out endlessly after the question had been asked. It seemed all at once deafening and completely calm. Tense emotions fluctuated behind the high-functioning sociopath's mask. Jess stared right back into his eyes that flickered between cold detatchment and despair. His jaw clenched. He blinked. Resignation.<br>Jess felt most of the tension seep out of the room, leaving an almost deflated Sherlock in its wake. The consulting detective slumped down into his chair, opposite John's- opposite the other chair- and motioned for Jess to find a seat.  
>The young woman found herself feeling very privelaged, like she'd been invited to tea with the Queen, or McDonalds with the American President. So Jess found herself a chair beside the desk and pulled it over, as silently as she could, before perching on the edge as though she were in the principal's office.<br>She was pretty sure it was not a normal thing for Sherlock to spill the beans so easily, so Jess was instantly alarmed at the fact that he was giving up after a ten-second staring contest. Whatever it was that had broken him had really and truly broken him. He even looked a little like a forgotten toy or discarded doll, tossed to the side and left to age alone at the back of a cupboard as the child grows up. The analogy sent shivers up Jess' spine. It merely added to the pile of theories as to who the kiss was for. That's what she'd been referring to it as- 'the kiss'. But if it wasn't hers, then which of her theories were correct?  
>A question to which she'd learn the answer very soon, if Sherlock would stop staring pensievly at the floor. It looked like it wouldn't be the one-word answer she was looking for, however, judging from how far back he seemed to go.<p>

"I'm not a- well, that's fairly obvious- I'm not normal. I'm different. 'Special'. 'Gifted'. Whatever other adjectives the media has applied to me over the years are most certainly true. A thief. A liar. A fake." Sherlock paused to frown at the ground. "I've done some of the worst things in the world and yet I'm regarded as a genius." A bitter-sweet smirk twitched at his lips. "As a child, I went through a psychology phase. I read book after book, theory after theory. Categorising people. Understanding emotions. All of it was fascinating. I diagnosed relatives with minute mental illnesses in seconds and could describe to you in detail about your psychological state.  
>You can imagine my horror when I discovered that I was just a normal- if talented- little boy. Developing normally, with a random selection of normal issues. No, I couldn't be just normal. My parents were normal. My family was normal. Normal was everywhere, and normal was completely, overwhelmingly boring. So, naturally, I went in search of a new identity. A new persona.<br>I scoured the books, hoping to find the one particular part of me that was different. Little by little, I twisted the view of my personality in my head until I was reading books on the psychopathic mind. I was sure I was a psychopath. Everything fit- in my little, budding Mind-Palace- and I was terrified. Honestly scared for my future. I didn't want to end up in prison, carving my initials into some unidentifyable inmate's stomach with a blunt object just cause I was bored.  
>Terrified of the conclusion I'd reached, I took to the books again, in the hopes of finding something- anything- that was on the border of psychopathy without actually crossing it. Eventually, I found an article on a sociopath nestled somewhere amidst the normal drivvel in the newspaper, of all places. His description should've included his psychopathic tendencies. Instead, it claimed him to be a 'high-functioning sociopath'. Curiosity got the better of me, and sure enough, in one footnote in one psychology book hidden in the library, I learnt all I needed to know about the difference between a normal sociopath and a high-functioning one. Then, it was only a matter of researching the latter before I had adopted it as my psychological state. I went from Sherlock Holmes, the normal genius-child, to Sherlock Holmes, the high-functioning sociopath who occasionally has strokes of brilliance that tend to astound onlookers." The corner of Sherlock's lip twitched downward for a second. "A sociopath has difficulty connecting with the human race, save for a few people he may be more open towards. Friends, if you're willing to stretch the imagination. For years as I grew up, I had not connected with anyone. Certainly Mycroft- my brother- was similar to a friend at one point, but as we grew and I developed into my chosen persona, we drifted. He was certainly truer to his anti-social ways, especially as an adolescent.<br>I was used to having few simple-minded aquaintances to share a laugh with for years. Most of my life, in fact. That was until I needed a flatmate and came across your brother-in-law, Doctor John Watson." A flicker of a smile crossed Sherlock's face as memories danced behind his eyes. Jess focused on his expression a little longer, before realising he had started talking again. She quickly tuned back in to what he was saying. "...Many interesting cases, some where our lives were on the line. Always, though, we'd come back safe and sound in Baker Street. Back to 221B. Back to Mrs Hudson and blogs and stupid hats. Of course, the whole thing was terribly bonding. We became fast friends, which I had considered impossible until then. Sherlock Holmes, the great anti-social idiot, had a friend."  
>Jess eyed the consulting detective for the longest time, waiting for the break in the silence. As it stretched on, however, it was looking less and less likely that the story would have a conclusion. Jess sighed and leaned back in her seat- she had subconsciously moved to the edge of it- before brushing a rather irksome strand of hair out of her face.<br>Sherlock was staring at the patch of floor just in front of the other chair, hands pressed together, as if in prayer. Anyone who knew Sherlock would know better, of course. Instead, he was deep inside his own mind. The flat was miles away and he might as well have been alone. In the distance, he felt the burning behind his eyes. He kept the flood at bay rather easily, but swallowing around the lump in his throat was another story. It took Sherlock a whole two and a half minutes to start talking again, though his voice croaked at first. It quickly cleared up.  
>"Then I had to die. I had to die because if I didn't, other people would die. The only people I cared about had guns pointed to their heads and it was all my fault and the only way to stop it was to end my life. Of course, I had planned for the scenario that would be my 'demise'. I calculated that there were thirteen possible-" Sherlock cut himself off with a quick glance at the chair opposite him. His lips turned down in an almost cartoonish level of sadness, before he cleared his throat, blinked a few times and kept going. "I couldn't tell John about my plan, for fear he'd let slip information to the public that I was still alive. That would have ended in a whole lot more death than I would've liked. So, I let him grieve. I let my best friend suffer and mourn, so he found someone to make him happy again. Your sister brought him back from a dark place, and for that I am eternally grateful. I don't know what I would've done if-. I am so very happy that John is happy. I am glad he is married and on his way to having a baby-" Jess gasped in shock, but Sherlock dismissed her. "-Because... well, because as I stated in my speech, I love John. Meeting him was and is the best thing that could've happened to me. He was my friend. My best friend. And I-" Sherlock's voice cracked with emotion and he sniffed. Suddenly, he frowned and his eyes narrowed. A dark expression seemed to spread across his face as he glared at nothing. Slowly, he returned to the room and his head snapped to the side to glare at Jess. The young woman stared back in alarm. His eyes scanned her again like an open book, but with an intensity that genuinely scared her. She drew further back in her chair.<br>"S-Sherlock..?" Jess asked, her voice a higher pitch than she would've liked. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" Her words seemed to just draw attention to her face, which was scrutinized like a code meant for cracking, or a puzzle designed to be solved. She got no reply. Instead, Sherlock began to mutter to himself.  
>"Why did I trust you with any of that information? Why did I allow myself to be so <em>sentimental<em>? What is is about you that made me think that information would be _safe_?" He hissed. "You cannot be trusted. You're a liar. A very good liar. Why did I trust you? Stupid, _stupid_! Foolish!"  
>Jess found herself glancing around for an exit if she needed one should the consulting detective turn violent in his barely concealed rage. A second glance at Sherlock told her that if he really meant to deal some damage, she wouldn't get the chance to escape. He was much too agile-looking to even think about running. Diving out a window would not only be painful but mean getting close enough for him to reach her.<br>Just as Jess began to come to terms about the fact that if Sherlock wanted to hurt her it would be remarkably easy for him to do so, she felt more than saw the anger leave his eyes and Sherlock deflated back into his seat. He sighed softly and glanced at John's chair. Closing his eyes, the consulting detective allowed himself to calm down further. Jess sat awkwardly in her chair, halfway to climbing over the back of it.

After the longest stretch of silence since Jess' arrival, Sherlock stood up and wandered over to the entrance of the flat. On the sofa by the wall sat a stack of books, where Jess had left the folder she'd brought.  
>"This has the details of the case." Sherlock stated and flipped it open. The consulting detective scanned the notes and reports and police investigations, along with suspects, motives and methods, all of which had the telltale signs of being a cold case. Frowning, Sherlock flicked the folder closed and glanced at the front. "This is the official case file. Property of the police." Sherlock's unasked question was directed at Jess with a glance.<br>Jess smirked proudly, glad to have impressed the detective.  
>"I have friends." Then, she rethought that. "Well, I say 'friends'..." She watched as the tall man studied the case as closely as he could, eyes darting around the various pages and notes jotted down. As he read, Jess watched his interest levels stay at a static level. Nothing seemed to grab him.<br>As she waited for the rejection, Jess let herself mull over Sherlock's confessions. It took her a moment to realise he still didn't answer her question. Sure he'd _implied_ something, but that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity.  
>"I accept." Sherlock spoke abruptly, interrupting Jess' train of thoughts.<br>"Sorry?" The young woman asked from her chair. She wasn't sure she had heard him.  
>"I can't leave right away, but give me a few days to sort out my affairs and I will help with the case." Sherlock replied.<br>Before Jess could respond, the consulting detective vanished into the kitchen and down a corridor to a door, taking the case file with him.  
>"No, wait, Sherlock! I have to give that back-"<br>"It's in safe hands, no need to worry!" Sherlock called from what was obviously his room. Jess sat around in the flat awkwardly for a moment. Seconds later, Sherlock emerged, buttoning up a purple shirt over pyjama bottoms.  
>When Jess raised an eyebrow, he responded by picking up a cup of some unknown brown liquid that had been there since before that morning. He almost took a sip when he withdrew his face with a grimace.<br>"There appears to be a colony living in my tea. Fascinating." The detective frowned and dumped the liquid down the sink. "Tell Mrs Hudson to buy more milk."

Jess was waiting impatiently for the file to be returned to her as she sat in 221B. Mrs Hudson had popped upstairs and had been overjoyed to discover Sherlock was going to take a case, even if it meant he'd be leaving London. She prepared a tray of biscuits and tea for Sherlock and his client, muttering to herself how good it was that he was 'out and about again'.  
>Finally, Jess could wait no longer.<br>"Sherlock, am I going to get that file back before I leave? My ferry is in an hour!" The young woman glanced impatiently at her watch, standing in the mouth of the hallway. She didn't dare go closer to his room, for fear of discovering some crazy experiment that would make it necessary for her memory to be wiped, or something. Who really knows?  
>"Not likely." Sherlock replied through the door. "I need to examine the information further. You're taking a ferry? I suppose the airport might've been suspicious if you just flew over for a five-minute visit."<br>Jess groaned. She began making her way to the exit when the sound of footsteps behind her drew her attention. Turning, she noticed Sherlock had finished dressing. He was in what was informal attire for him- a black jacket, dark purple shirt and dark trousers. Jess couldn't help but notice that one or two of the buttons on the shirt looked a little strained. Honestly, it wouldn't have surprised Jess if the buttons sprang open then and there. What did surprise Jess was how little she would've minded if that had happened.  
>Unfortunately for the buttons, they held their own as Sherlock made his way down the corridor, fixing his sleeves as he did so. From the way he acted, it was as though the earlier events of the day hadn't happened. As if Jess had imagined his speech. As if everything was perfectly okay behind the mask of an almost smiling face. Jess was fine with these assumptions.<br>"Just one thing before you go, Jess." Sherlock's smile vanished and he took on a serious tone. "Please- for the sake of the sanity of all involved- do not mention what I have told you. Everything that happened in this flat today is between you and I- and partly Mrs Hudson. Please, Jess." With that, her illusion that everything was fine again shattered like sugar glass. The pleading look in his eyes supported Sherlock's words.  
>"Of course. I won't tell a soul." Jess replied without hesitation. She stared right back, keeping her face as blank as possible. In reality, she couldn't help but notice they were a whole lot closer together than she'd realised. For a few heart-stopping moments, they stayed there, unmoving. Until Sherlock broke the eye-contact and glanced at the ceiling.<br>"Thank God. That was a huge security risk. I unwillingly trusted you with information that could've easily brought about my downfall- oh. Oh, brilliant. Tell the stranger that the information is important. That'll surely cause less damage. You're on a roll today, Sherlock. Why not just hand over a gun? That might've been a safer option." Sherlock rubbed a hand along his jawline in frustration. When he heard Jess surpress a giggle, he frowned. "What?"  
>Jess didn't reply. Instead, her barrier against the laughter was breaking, letting out spluttered laughs as she tried to fight them back. Every glance at his expression sent her even deeper into her laughing fit.<br>"What? What is it?" Sherlock's frown deepened. At this, Jess exploded with laughter. She was practically weeping by the time Sherlock sighed. "It seems my wit is beyond all measure."

Mrs Hudson waved Jess out with a huge smile. She thanked her over and over for helping Sherlock.  
>"Whatever you did really worked! He hasn't been this active in weeks. I just hope he stays like this." The older woman sighed. Then, she perked up and smiled again. "You're welcome to stop by whenever you're in London, dear."<br>"Thanks, Mrs Hudson." Jess nodded back with a smile. She was growing rather fond of the older woman- she was like the mother she never had.  
>Jess stepped out of 221B and onto the street. Waving goodbye to Mrs Hudson, Jess began to make her way down Baker Street. The soft spatter of rain was starting, much to Jess' annoyance. And she'd thought that it only rained this often in Ireland! Pausing to pull a compactible umbrella from her handbag, Jess had time to check her phone. It was still on silent since she'd been through the airport. It was a battered-looking iPhone 4 with a few scratches here and there. If it came down to finding out who owned the phone, they'd have no problem identifying the many fingerprints on the screen as hers.<br>There was a text notification, from a number she didn't recognise. Frowning, she opened it with a flick of her thumb and entered the four-didget code.  
><em>I'll be down momentarily. SH<em>  
>Jess reread the text a few times. She pondered for a moment about who might have her number. She tried to guess why the sender had asked her to be quiet about them being down. Was it a wrong number? Jess tapped out a quick reply.<br>_Sorry, who is this?_  
>Just as Jess began to wonder if the 'SH' was a signature, a shadow covering her phone caught her off-guard.<br>"I believe the ferry is bording in about half an hour." The voice of Sherlock Holmes rumbled beside her. Jess glanced up at the tall man who was wearing his coat, collar up. His hands were submerged in his pockets to retain body heat. Despite the season, it was rather cold.  
>Jess blinked up at him, before silently handing him the umbrella. She had a hood on her jacket, after all. She decided that questions could wait, since she'd already forced him to talk about himself a lot more than he liked.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that was tedious. Hah, sorry, I just prefer writing scenes were everyone knows everyone, so this is just beyond dull. Well, no. I'm exaggerating. But doesn't everyone do that all the time?<strong>  
><strong>Anyway, I recently (yesterday...) set up my own Tumblr account. I mostly post about fandom-related stuff. At the moment, that means Sherlock. I go through interest-phases... ;D<strong>  
><strong>I'm GalifreyGal there, just so you know. Everything is safe-for-work, obviously.<strong>  
><strong>See you next time, fellow Sherlockians!<strong>


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